


Little Red is a Little Dead (Set On Killing You)

by Rainy182



Series: This Is Your Brain On Writer's Block [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Assassin Peter Hale, Assassin Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, Long planned kill, M/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-05 16:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14048394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy182/pseuds/Rainy182
Summary: What was supposed to be a fairy tale story turned into a story about assassins and long planed revenge. Starring you local morally ambiguous favs: Peter and Stiles.





	Little Red is a Little Dead (Set On Killing You)

**Author's Note:**

> The tone of this fic changed like three times if I'm honest. Which is why it's in my "writers block" series. But I read it five times and edited it like 10000 so I guess I really liked the core idea. Because I had to rewrite it/upload it like 20 times due to wifi failure.

There are three key fact when it comes to working for the Grimm brothers.

You don’t leave the Grimm brothers organization

You don’t lie to the Grimm brothers

You don’t fall in love

* * *

 

Stiles as a child wanted to be a school teacher, just like his mother Claudia, until she died- then so did his desire. An illness took her, which only means there was no one for the child and his father to blame- only Fate and her cruel mistress Death.

Stiles as a teen wanted to be a cop, just like his father John, until he died- then so did his desire. An assassin took him, which means there was someone to blame, and a plot of dirt for his rage to grow- six feet deep and two feet wide.

So at sixteen he grab a gun and a bag, along with just the clothing on his back, and met a man at the edge of town. His name was Grimm and his suit as dark as Stiles desires.

This is where the story of Little Red begins.

* * *

 

_You don’t fall in love…_

 

Peter is more wolf than man- he’ll be the first to admit. Which is what makes him the best at what he does when it comes to being a cold assassin. It also helps that his employers- the Grimm Brothers- pay handsomely and provide the equipment. Him working in for the Grimm Brothers is also how he ended up back in Beacon Hills. The birthplace of the Hales and also their tomb.

Anyone who took a look at Peter Hale now wouldn’t know he was a victim of arson and had himself suffered fifth degree burns. Anyone who looked at Peter Hale now would just see a normal attractive forty year old man. They wouldn’t know how he burned for six years before being killed then later resurrected by sheer will.

It’s probably why he took notice of the whiskey eyes that looked a little _too long_ an a little _too hard_ at him. How they showed up around town everywhere, always filled with mischief and knowledge. Like they could see the danger that lurks in Beacon Hills and is just waiting for it to boil over.

So eventually Peter started seeking out the whiskey colored eyes. Started partaking in the game of cat and mouse that he unknowingly stepped into. Leaving notes around town and waiting for replies that always held the right mix of teasing and cleverness- exchanging names. Peter started getting comfortable, started seeing Beacon Hills as home again and even fun again.

However he’s still an assassin and a werewolf one at that. So when he’s disposing a body in an abandoned warehouse and he hears a noise from behind his, he turns letting the end of his gun meet whiskey eyes. The same ones holding the same mischief and knowledge.

 “You must be Stiles,” Peter draws, his gun still facing Stiles. Because as enamored he is with the boy in front of him, he doesn’t like how he suddenly appeared at a soon to be crime scene.

The boy’s face just pulls into a lazy smile before he gives a small wave.

 “Hello Peter Hale.” Peter should’ve shot him. That’s the rules when it comes to working for the Grimm Brothers- no witnesses, no coincidences. But Peter chose to lower his gun and be curious instead of ruthless for once.

 “You followed me,” Peter takes a step closer to Stiles, “why?”

 “Just confirming an thought.” Stiles paused before nodding to the lifeless body behind Peter, “So I take it that’s the last guy on the list. From the fire?”

Despite the small flinch at the reminder of his family's violent departure Peter remained silent. He could tell the truth, how the guy was just a paid hit on a long list of dead men, but he found that he wanted to keep a certain image. After all someone avenging their family is more sympathetic than someone who kills to pay the bills.

So he stays silent. And Stiles just nods before turning back towards the entryway slightly- his back and neck not exposed.

 “So you want to grab some coffee?” the boy says with a smile smile, his eyes seeming to glow a little before cooling back down. Peter returns the smile before dropping a lit match to the body behind him. It’s still form suddenly catching fire. Both he and Stiles make their way out of the warehouse heading towards the direction of town.

Peter never did find out what thought Stiles was confirming.

* * *

 

_You don’t lie…_

 

The light of the sunrise flows through the open window as the gentle breeze pushes the thin sheers out of the way. It’s these moments where Stiles lets his mind think back to before. When he was a small child new to America, hands tightly wrapped up in his mothers, and eyes wide.

Before the illness, the anger, death. Back when Beacon Hills symbolizes new beginnings and not covered with a blanket of death. Before magic overtook Stiles life, and the supernatural was just something bedtime stories were made of.

Before Peter Hale.

_“You sure this is the guy?” Stiles eyes hard as he looks over the picture in front of him. Scanning all of the information and storing it for later use._

_“Yes,” the mans German accent completely over taking the word as he speaks, “Looked into it myself.”_

_Stiles looked up towards the man. Taking in the dark eyes and matching suit before looking back down at the picture. After a moment Stiles takes a deep breath and grabs his red jacket then makes a motion towards the door._

_“So,” Stiles voice now as hard as his eyes, “Where too Mr. Grimm?”_

_“Back home of course.”_

Stiles looks over to Peter’s sleeping form, watching how his bare chest slowly rises and falls as he sleeps, before looking back towards the window. He can’t help but feel doubt every now and then- doubt about if revenge is actually the right thing. If he can forgive Peter Hale for being the man that killed his father. If he can just accept that Peter was crazy- fresh out of a coma. It’s also times like this he wishes he could ask his father- or mother- for advice and guidance.

But dead men don’t speak.

 “Lil’ Red?” slurs Peter, successfully breaking Stiles from his thoughts.

 “Sorry for waking you Big Bad…” Stiles says somewhat absent minded, his eyes still on the open window watching the light breeze.

 “I’m sorry.”

 “I know.”

  _“Did you kill my father?” Stiles voice breaking the post- sex silence and effectively shattering the post-orgasm glow._

_Peter must’ve known the question was coming, the moment Stiles told him his last name, he should’ve been prepared. Yet Peter still freezes at the question. Still takes a deep breath and shifts his eyes. Still takes a step away like a bad memory suddenly formed in front of him. It shouldn’t shock him._

_In a way it had, but still, Stiles expected better._

_“Yes.”_

_It shouldn’t shock him, but in a way it had, but still- Stiles drew his gun._

_Peter didn’t seem phased by that. Actually he was still laying against the headboard as relaxed as ever. As if he knew that this moment was going to come someday. It should worry Stiles, that someone so hellbent of living, can accept death just as easy._

_“I was crazy- not a good excuse, I know- but I was. Fresh out a coma, no pack to ground me, and the Alpha power running through my blood.” Peter takes a pause, as if the words themselves were choking him, “I wasn’t… right. So when I was given a list of people to kill, with just a simple “they did it”, I just killed them without thought.”_

_Silence followed Peter’s words as Stiles slowly lowered the gun to rest on the space of bed between them. The space that somehow feels like a thousand miles and only a few inches at the same time._

_“Who gave you think list?” Stiles voice soft. The kind of softness that one gets after years of working to the bone only to realize what you worked for was just a lie._

_“You know who did…. Lil’ Red,” was Peter’s just as soft reply._

_“I’m sorry.”_

Nether asked what for- they didn’t have too- and neither mentioned how there was no forgiveness, only acceptance, that night. They didn’t need too.

* * *

 

_You don’t leave…_

 

Peter knew this day would come. He knew it since the say he learned Stiles last name, he knew it since Stiles asked him the faithful question of _“Did you kill my father?”_ , he just knew. He just thought it would be Stiles pulling the trigger, not a faceless shadow behind him holding a gun to his head. He thought he would have more time to get used to the idea of a permanent death. Be able to outrun his demons a few more months before they came to collect. Hell for a while there he thought he was forgiven.

He of all people should’ve known that wouldn’t be the case.

Instead he’s staring at his lovers mole covered body- the sheets only highlighting his pale skin- and taking shallow breaths to prevent from waking him. He’s tempted to reach out and touch, but he doesn’t want to destroy the last gift that Stiles is giving him. The illusion that he won’t be the only one killed, that Stiles hadn’t planned this moment for months- years- now.

Peter wonder’s if he ever loved him or if revenge overtook him as well- just like it did to himself.

Peter wonders if the gun to the back of his head is infused with wolfsbane, or if he’s just imagining the burning sensation, that the feeling is just caused by a mix of _feardreadacceptance_. He wonders if the gun being used is the same one he keeps in the nightstand- a gift from Stiles- because the irony is something almost hysterically funny.

Peter wonders if Stiles will would say anything before the gun goes off.

He doesn’t.

* * *

 Two men stand at the edge of town, their suits a dark charcoal and their grins sinister. They watch as two men approach them. One holding a gun- the chamber still smoking- and the other with bright whiskey eyes and a blood red jacket.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked at least some parts!


End file.
